


Like Angels In Heaven

by Daegaer



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 1930s, Angels, Demons, Gen, Period-Typical Racism, Singapore, The Arrangement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-04-22
Updated: 2003-04-22
Packaged: 2018-06-08 09:34:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6849118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/pseuds/Daegaer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While meeting for a drink in Singapore, Aziraphale and Crowley run into another supernatural visitor, to their alarm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Angels In Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Afrai's birthday in 2003.

_Raffles Hotel, Singapore, April 1933_

 

Aziraphale sat on the verandah sipping a very good gin and tonic. He had to admit, Crowley was right about the hotel. It was certainly a fine example of colonial excess, not that Aziraphale really approved of colonialism. It was one of Crowley’s more insidious ideas; he'd had the nerve to suggest to that anyone who drank as much tea and cocoa as Aziraphale hadn’t a leg to stand on when it came to commenting on the course of the British or any other Empire. Aziraphale had had quite a good time messing round with the whole colonial enterprise and making sure that the colonised cultures influenced the colonisers right back. The resulting cultural mixes could be very enjoyable and very vibrant indeed, despite silly human prejudices about keeping everybody and everything in neat little categories. Like this place, with all its European guests, and all its Chinese and Indian and Malay and Eurasian staff. But the hotel did serve a very fine G&T. He was sure it would serve a rather fine lunch too, if Crowley would ever show up. At the next table over two English girls in their early twenties sat, bright as birds in colourful frocks. They were happy and young and very giggly. Aziraphale felt cheerful just looking at them, the dear things.

“Spying on girls again, Aziraphale?” a voice said.

“Sit down and have a drink,” Aziraphale said, not bothering to look round. “I have to amuse myself somehow if you’re going to be late.”

Crowley dropped into the opposite seat, putting his fedora carefully at the side of the table. Aziraphale blinked.

“You’re wearing white.”

“So? So are you. So are a lot of men. It’s not exactly unusual around here. _My_ suit however, is uncreased.”

Aziraphale peered at his own suit.

“Linen does that, Crowley. Some of us don’t cheat.”

Crowley grinned and signalled a waiter. Moments later he sighed happily as his gin arrived.

“If you’re so keen to fit in, take the sunglasses off,” Aziraphale said. “It’s not polite to wear them in a place like this. You’ll be wearing them in England next.”

“I like them. They make me look mysterious.”

“Is that what you call it? I was thinking ‘shifty’ was a better description. You’re not some sort of _agent provocateur_ , you know.”

“I’m not? Really?” Crowley said. “How about you? Are we quitting? Well, that’s a load off my mind, I must say. Don’t you think we should just be honest with everyone about this?”

He took off the sunglasses and turned towards the girls’ table, raising his voice a little.

“Good afternoon, ladies. May I say how charming you both look today. It appears my colleague and I are no longer following our profession. Which, by the way, is as field agents of the supernatural realms. He’s an angel and I’m a demon. May I offer you a drink?”

They smiled politely yet dismissively.

“I’m afraid we’re waiting for someone,” the slightly older girl said. “Thank you, but we simply don’t have time.”

Crowley made polite murmurs of disappointment and turned back, grinning. He grinned wider when he saw Aziraphale’s expression.

“Oh, come on. It’s not like they were going to believe me.”

“I’m just alarmed that you seem to have sunk to accosting ladies in public. It does seem a rather demonic activity.”

“Yes, indeed. By far the worst thing I’ve ever done. Oh. Don’t look now,” Crowley said, “but you’ll never believe who just walked in.”

Aziraphale lowered his voice “Who?”

Crowley grinned.

“No one. But you just gave yourself away – no human on earth could have resisted looking.”

Aziraphale snorted derisively and sipped his gin. Crowley slid the glasses back over his eyes, picked up his drink and froze, staring towards the doors leading from the bar.

“Shit,” he said.

“Really, my dear, do you have to use that sort of language?” Aziraphale said, nodding slightly over at the table with the girls.

“Aziraphale. An angel’s just walked onto the verandah.”

“Ha ha. Shouldn’t you have waited just a little longer after your ‘don’t look’ line before saying that?”

Crowley put a hand up to shield his face, peeping over the top of the glasses.

“I’m not joking, Aziraphale. If he looks over here we’re sunk.”

Aziraphale shook his head sadly, but looked. He gasped a little, seeing the man standing there.

“Who is it?” Crowley hissed.

“I don’t know,” Aziraphale muttered. “I don’t think he’s anyone important. I’d have been told. Wouldn’t I?”

“Right. Because both our people are so good at telling us anything,” Crowley said. “Oh, shit, he’s turning this way.”

Aziraphale raised a hand, intent written all over his face. Crowley slapped his own hand down on it, pinning it to the table. He leaned in close to hiss disapprovingly.

“Stop! What do you think you’re doing? You think he won’t notice a little angelic activity happening twenty feet away? Uhhh – think human. We’ve got more experience, we can pass. See? I’m just a human, I am.”

Aziraphale looked at him. Crowley did seem more human somehow. Not that it would fool anyone angelic giving more than a cursory glance, Aziraphale thought mournfully. Oh well. Mortality. Three score years and ten. Looking forward to a spot of lunch and then maybe high tea and dinner later and a nice nap. Nothing out of the ordinary at this table, oh no. Crowley raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t strain anything,” he whispered sarcastically.

At that point, Aziraphale’s concentration was broken as the younger girl at the next table jumped up with a cry of delight, and ran over to the angel.

“Darling!” she said. “You did make it after all!”

Aziraphale and Crowley gaped in astonishment as the couple embraced and kissed with obvious enthusiasm.

“He’s _kissing_ her,” Aziraphale squeaked.

“Yeah,” Crowley breathed.

The angel was grinning like someone seeing his heart’s fondest desire as the kiss finally ended. Crowley and Aziraphale met each other’s eyes, shocked. They turned back to see the angel do a double take in their direction. No one moved. Then a determined look came over the angel’s face, and he started towards them, his hand in the small of the girl’s back.

“Get your bag, sweetheart,” he said. “And collect your friend. I’ll just be a moment.”

He stopped at the table, glaring down at them. His gaze swept over Crowley’s hand, still lying forgotten on top of Aziraphale’s, at their heads still close together. He took a good hard look at Crowley, and directed a very unfriendly glare at Aziraphale.

“It looks like neither of us gains and both of us lose by reporting this meeting,” he said in a nasty tone of voice, “so let’s both just keep quiet.” He turned to go, but looked back in open scorn at them. “Humans are one thing, but _you_ \--”

He walked away fast, smiling happily at the girl and her friend, who had collected their bags and were giggling together.

“What?” Aziraphale said. “Why wouldn’t I report him? That’s just not allowed. Crowley? Is something wrong?”

He looked in some surprise at the deep red staining Crowley’s pale face. Crowley sat back fast, folding his arms.

“Don’t be stupid, Aziraphale. You want him to describe us having a chatty G&T? Or anything else that comes into his head? Drop it.”

“What? I can’t. It’s _not allowed_ , Crowley. You know that. People _fell_ because of that sort of thing. Suppose he and she, er, um –,” Aziraphale made a vague gesture.

“Do you suppose they haven’t?” Crowley said acidly. “He didn’t call you by name. Do you think he knows who you are?”

Aziraphale thought a moment.

“I don’t know. There are an awful lot of us, and I’ve been down here an awfully long time. Maybe he doesn’t.”

“Nice to know the secret part of the agent business might still be holding true – ah, shit.”

“She’s going to tell him about your little joke, isn’t she?”

“Maybe she didn’t hear our names,” Crowley said desperately. “Oh, hell. Look, Aziraphale, I wouldn’t ask this normally, but could you call down a rain of fire on this place? We could rush him in the chaos.”

Aziraphale frowned.

“Don’t you think that might get us unwelcome attention? From Both Places? Anyway, you wouldn’t believe the paperwork – things aren’t as simple as they used to be.”

Crowley downed the rest of his drink.

“I’ve lost my appetite. Come on.”

He got up and led the way inside. As they passed the Tiffin Room they could feel themselves being watched. Crowley didn’t stop his calm walk until they reached the lobby, when he practically ran up to the desk. A receptionist looked up at him with professional politeness, as if he were used to seeing agitated Europeans sliding towards him on the marble.

“May I help you, Sir?”

“Yes. I believe I have just seen an acquaintance of mine, and I was wondering if he might have checked in? About six feet tall, of medium complexion, black hair?” Crowley said vaguely.

The receptionist looked a little puzzled, as if a perfect picture of the angel had suddenly popped into his mind.

“Do you mean Mr Smith, Sir?” the receptionist asked.

Crowley smiled self-deprecatingly.

“Smith? Ah, I must have been mistaken. Sorry to have bothered you.”

He sprinted back to Aziraphale.

“Smith. Bloody lack of imagination. He’s in one of the courtyard suites, come on.”

“What are we going to do?” Aziraphale said.

“Break in, act like secret agents, set some fatal traps, that sort of thing.”

Aziraphale stopped. Ten yards along the lobby, Crowley turned and hissed “Come _on_ ”.

“Crowley, stop a moment. We can’t just -,” Aziraphale looked round and caught up with Crowley. He lowered his voice to a whisper.

“We can’t just kill him. You’re talking about murder.”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said with exaggerated patience, “he saw us together. He thinks he can blackmail us. Is that what you want?”

“Can’t we come up with some reason for meeting? Er, some sort of summit to go over quarterly returns, or something?”

Crowley gave him a bleak look.

“Which of course neither of us sought official permission for? Which neither of us appeared to be particularly guarded at? Where we were sharing a friendly drink? You’re going soft in the head, Aziraphale. We’re supposed to be enemies, remember? And I think he’d put quite a spin on his tale telling, one you really wouldn’t like.”

Aziraphale looked at him blankly. Crowley sighed.

“You know the saying ‘To the pure all things are pure’? In your case it should be ‘To the obtuse all things are obscure’. But you’re right. We can’t just kill him. Everyone would notice. We’ll have to think about this, come up with some clever way of killing him that doesn’t involve us directly. Or we could go with my first suggestion and just drop it.”

Aziraphale looked unconvinced.

“I can’t help feeling that you’re leaving out viable alternatives. Surely our only choices aren’t murder or going along with this? You’re just trying to confuse me, don’t think I can’t recognise your tactics after all this time.”

“Why don’t you leave the thinking to me? Now I’ve had a chance to consider it, I think dropping it is the way to go. The way I see it, if he thinks we have something on each other he’ll just have his fun and head off eventually. We’ll be left alone to get on with things.”

He put a friendly hand on Aziraphale’s arm.

“That’s what you want, isn’t it? Just to do your job without too much interference? Not to have to wonder what it is I’m up to and how you’ll stop me? To have me continue to run anything major by you? If we rock the boat our whole little arrangement will topple, Aziraphale. Isn’t it easier just to turn a blind eye, just this once? Suppose the last thousand years are audited, have you thought about that? You might be recalled. I might be recalled. I might be given a desk job back in the office. You might get in a lot of trouble – do you want to be my office mate? No? Let’s let it slide, all right?”

It all sounded so _reasonable_ , Aziraphale thought, wavering. Reasonable. Crowley was sounding reasonable about something important. And had somehow finished back at the point he had first proposed. He stopped wavering, and started to tell Crowley that this was neither the time nor the place to indulge in a little friendly temptation, when across the lobby they both saw the angel approach the desk and ask for the phone. Their eyes met, and the angel gave an unpleasant smile, shaking his head sadly. Crowley snatched his hand off Aziraphale’s arm and jumped back, hissing.

“On ssecond thoughtss, let’ss evisscerate the basstard.”

 

 

* * *

They had been walking for hours. Aziraphale felt hot and sweaty, and was sure his suit was ruined. Crowley’s was still crisp, white and totally uncreased. _Of course_ , Aziraphale thought, _I suppose he’s used to heat_. The harsh sun made it difficult to do more than squint, the air felt thick and humid, and Aziraphale was beginning to feel like he’d have a headache soon. Crowley led the way randomly around the city, not saying anything, seemingly not going anywhere in particular. Aziraphale knew he was in a bad mood, though. Everywhere they went cars skidded towards pedestrians laden down with shopping and people started violent arguments. Aziraphale was feeling very stretched making sure no one actually died.

“Crowley.”

No answer.

“Crowley, my feet hurt.”

Crowley gave him an implacable look and stepped out into the traffic. Cars swerved all over the road, horns honking. An omnibus suddenly became dangerously top-heavy under the weight of Crowley’s glare, threatening to crush some terrified rickshaw drivers. Aziraphale shut up and followed meekly. An hour more of aimless wandering and Crowley stopped at a street stand to buy noodles. Aziraphale looked glumly at the dish he’d been given, and wished he could eat them as easily as Crowley. It had been a very long time since he’d eaten with anything other than a knife and fork. He had the distinct feeling that if he so much as touched the chopsticks the noodles would rise up and cover him from head to toe. Crowley finished without so much as one of the little buggers besmirching him. Aziraphale gave in. He was very hungry and very tired and one little self-indulgence would hardly count here. The chopsticks obeyed him suddenly, gaining him a tiny smile from Crowley. Aziraphale decided to press the advantage.

“What have we been doing for the last several hours?”

“Wandering to and fro on the earth. I’ve been stretching forth my hand against the sons of men, and you’ve been stopping me. Tiring isn’t it? That’s how it’ll be if our people start paying too much attention to us, only I suppose we’d have to go back to doing things on a somewhat bigger scale. I don’t want to go back to that, Aziraphale. I really don’t.”

Aziraphale sighed. He didn’t want to either. The last thousand years had been so easy, so pleasant. Well, the centuries before that as well, really, as Crowley and he gradually came to an understanding, gradually came to enjoy each others’ company, gradually learned that they could both have a good life if they were a little less – rigid – about their job descriptions. He’d never regretted suggesting the Arrangement. No more need to worry about being jumped by something out of nightmare with fangs and claws, not even any need to worry that Crowley’s blistering sense of humour would be turned against him. (1) Just plenty of leisure time, time to develop hobbies, to collect and read books, to really appreciate human music. Telling himself he wasn’t really giving in to temptation, Aziraphale gave in.

“All right. We’ll ignore him.”

Crowley sighed deeply, and shook his head. He straightened up from where he’d been leaning on a wall, no smudge of dust on his clothes.

“I’ve been thinking. I think we’re bloody going to have to get involved in this after all. Why is it that angels – and demons – aren’t supposed to have human girlfriends?”

Aziraphale blinked.

“It’s just not allowed. I mean, remember what happened when – oh. Oh.”

Crowley gave him a wry smile.

“Yes. Oh, indeed. Human women are just too damn fertile. Civilisation as we know it wouldn’t have happened if there hadn’t been a whole generation of angels’ by-blows running around. Bunch of charismatic, good-looking, world-conquering shits, the lot of them. Oh, don’t look at me like that, there were some demons’ bastards as well, I admit. The point is, your Boss didn’t approve. I don’t think Anyone’s mind has changed on the issue, do you? Do you really think questions won’t be asked if another mongrel shows up?”

Aziraphale shook his head. A dreadful thought came to him.

“Crowley. Er, did you – ever, um -?”

Crowley shook his head.

“No. Not even though I didn’t have any further to fall. How about you?”

“No!”

Crowley raised an eyebrow at Aziraphale’s vehemence.

“No need to get defensive. You asked first. Anyway, let’s think about this. What sort of havoc will it cause when she gets pregnant? _When_ , Aziraphale, not _if_. We could run some sort of damage limitation; you could explain the problems to our visitor and make sure he understands she has to be sterile. Ideally, you’d do it to make sure he doesn’t lie to us.”

Aziraphale blanched.

“What? I can’t do that. And suppose she already is? You’re talking about a baby, Crowley.”

“Baby, nothing. I’m talking about a problem. Fine, I’ll do it. Don’t get sentimental over the idea of a baby, Aziraphale. We’re talking about something that could wreck our lives. You wouldn’t catch me losing sleep about some baby that’d grow up to mess me round. I’d sort things out quickly.”

Aziraphale nodded in the relieved manner of someone who has successfully passed the buck. It wasn’t as if Crowley was talking about an actual child here. It was all a matter of perspective, and Aziraphale’s perspective was that Crowley would handle any unpleasantness that needed to be handled. An inconvenient thought occurred to him.

“What if he won’t listen?”

Crowley gave one of his more demonic smiles.

“That’s why we need more on him than he has on us. Let’s get back.”

* * *

Mr Clements had felt no real urge to go to bed all night. He’d danced with several attractive ladies, had a very good meal indeed and had somehow ended up in an all-night card game, where he won just enough to keep his interest up and not quite enough to make the other players suspicious. In his courtyard suite, Crowley and Aziraphale sat up, listening very hard. They did not look happy. They had not looked happy for hours. After twelve hours of both of them looking unhappy, Crowley looking annoyed and Aziraphale looking very embarrassed, they crept away. Crowley accosted a waiter bringing breakfast to another suite and ordered room service, then stalked off with Aziraphale trailing behind. Aziraphale couldn’t raise the interest even to comment on the beautiful carpets in Crowley’s suite, just wandered in and sank into one of the chairs. Neither of them said anything until the breakfast arrived. Crowley attacked his and looked in surprise at Aziraphale’s plate, where the food was being shoved round unenthusiastically.

“You OK?”

“Fine,” Aziraphale sighed, picking out a tiny mouthful.

“Hmm. Have some more coffee.”

“He loves her, Crowley.”

“Oh, they all say that under those circumstances. ‘John Smith’. Pfft. Your lot have very limited imaginations. Think we have enough on him, or shall we spy some more? I’d be interested to see if you can go any redder.”

Aziraphale gave him a sour glance.

“I think the fact that we know he married her should be enough, don’t you? I really should report this. It’s precisely the sort of thing that had angels falling like rain the last time.”

“Which is why we’re going to use it as blackmail material. He has suppositions, we have facts. We have him over a barrel. Which is where he’d be literally if he showed up in Hell as a newly fallen Johnny-Come-Lately. We are going to point that out to him, and we’re going to lay down a few ground rules. Now eat up, I don’t want you fainting on me. Try the devilled kidneys.”

Aziraphale complied, feeling rather ill. ‘John’ did love his wife, he was sure of it. Love was something that Aziraphale had always felt should be encouraged, not blighted, and Crowley was practically humming with the joy of an imminent blighting of happiness. It was usually easy to forget that Crowley was a demon, to see him as just another angel who happened to have unfortunate opinions on some matters. It was one of the reasons they rarely discussed politics or their work. At times like these, though, it was all Aziraphale could do not to check for horns and a slight smell of sulphur. It was even worse when Crowley was right, even when he was right for the wrong reasons. If John were let away with this, he’d eventually let something slip. Even though he loved her. Especially because he loved her. Fifty years down the line, Aziraphale could see a grieving and bereaved angel snapping and letting out his secret. And then there’d be all sorts of trouble, and an audit for sure. Worse, he might get cocky and overly confident in the short term. He might start boasting about the affair. Others might start following his example. There could be another rebellion. Aziraphale put down his fork and refused all offers of seconds. Crowley looked at him with what seemed like real worry.

* * *

Aziraphale screwed up his courage. Crowley had allowed him one small whisky and no more. They’d made one simple trip to the Office of the Registrar and had come away with a copy of the marriage certificate of Mr and Mrs John Smith, newly-weds. Crowley’s other little bomb-shell was nestling in his pocket. Now all he had to do was wreck that poor girl’s life so that his own would be easier. He’d said as much to Crowley in an agony of guilt and had been severely reprimanded. _Of course her life won’t be ruined_ , Crowley had said. _We’re doing her a favour when you think about it. Imagine what her kid might do to the world. Don’t you think she’d feel bad then?_ So here he was, waiting for them to make an appearance. Ah. There they were. They skipped down into the lobby and headed for the main door. He was wearing a good and very obviously new suit, a Homburg held loosely in his hand. She was wearing a fashionable hat and gloves with her neat jacket and skirt. It looked like they had an afternoon’s sightseeing planned. Aziraphale marched over before his nerve could completely evaporate.

“Excuse me,” he said, his voice coming out a little higher than he’d intended. “I wonder if I might have a word?”

“I don’t think we have anything to say to each other,” John said brusquely. “Good day.”

“It shouldn’t take long. I’m sure _Mrs Smith_ will excuse us for just a moment,” Aziraphale said.

The angel gave him a long look, then nodded sharply.

“Alice, dearest, I just need to speak to this – gentleman – for a moment. It’s something to do with the head office.”

She gave him a sunny smile and nodded pleasantly at Aziraphale.

“Of course, Darling. But try not to take too long, won’t you?”

She walked off to stand in the sunlight coming in from the doors. Aziraphale looked her over carefully. Oh dear. Not a moment too soon, he thought.

“What is it?” John asked impatiently. “I haven’t got all day.”

Aziraphale put on the scowl that Crowley had recommended and started in on their prepared script.

“It seems the Sons of God still find the Daughters of Men very fair, _John_. I suppose you’ve forgotten the trouble caused by intermarriage in the past? I’m prepared to keep quiet about her existence if you’re sensible, but she can’t have children. Not ever. Do you hear me?”

John glared at him in fury.

“What business is it of yours? If we want children, we’ll have children. Don’t forget that you won’t come out of this in any good way if you start telling stories. You and your demon. It’s disgusting. May God do thus and so to me and more also if I don’t --”

Aziraphale got the distinct impression of wings and brightness and a sword and cut him off quickly before he could finish the oath.

“I have your marriage certificate, you idiot. I have _proof_. And I don’t have the only copy. You married a human under human laws, you interfering fool. Neither Heaven nor Hell will stand for that. If you open your mouth there’s only one supernatural realm you’ll be going back to. But if you’re prepared to be sensible, we can come to some agreement.”

John looked at him cautiously.

“Agreement? What agreement? We should both keep quiet. That’s the agreement.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Aziraphale saw Crowley beginning to move in on the girl. He spoke quickly to distract John from what was about to happen.

“Maybe when I thought you were just infatuated with her. Not now. If this gets known, you could find yourself in the Hosts of the Fallen. Is that what you want? And what about her? At best she’d be an embarrassment to be tidied away.”

Crowley was introducing himself, apologising for his impossible behaviour yesterday. She was smiling, telling him to think nothing of it, shaking his hand with that well-brought-up limp grasp that girls used. And then she stumbled suddenly, only Crowley’s quick reflexes stopping her from falling, his hand steadying her at the waist. John gasped, his quick movement forward stopped by Aziraphale’s upraised hand.

“What did he do? _What did he do?_ ”

“No children,” Aziraphale said in pity. “Not ever. I’m going to keep quiet, and you’re going to do what you’re told. You’re going to stay down here, not go back and forth from Heaven. That would draw too much attention. You will live as a human, no miracles. And you will not restore her child-bearing abilities. You will think up some reason to get yourself permission to stay here, and you will live very, very quietly. Do you understand me?”

John looked at him, defeat beginning to show in his eyes.

“What if I don’t agree? What if I cure her? She wants babies, you bastard.”

“You haven’t been here much, have you, John? You saw her and it was love at first sight?”

John nodded, his eyes bright with memory.

“I was down to hand out a vision. I felt like I’d seen one myself. I got myself sent down again a few times, asked her to marry me.”

“Visas are given out as easy as that, are they?” Aziraphale said in annoyance. “You’d think there’d be a memo. Anyway, let me explain something about humans to you. They’re awfully intriguing and attractive if you’re into that sort of thing, and I can’t deny she seems very fond of you. But humans are terribly biased in all sorts of stupid ways, and one of the stupid ways is that a lot of them don’t think much of people from different ethnicities getting married.”

He produced Crowley’s bomb-shell.

“This is your birth certificate, John. It has a long and convincing trail of evidence behind it. It quite clearly proves that you are from an ethnically mixed background. If that becomes known you and your wife will be cut off from English society out here, which I’d imagine she would find unfortunate. And of course you’d find that having an English wife wouldn’t make you welcome in a lot of other cultures in this part of the world either. As you didn’t tell her any of this, I wouldn’t be surprised if a sympathetic magistrate found it ample grounds for divorce. You’d lose her, and you still wouldn’t have anything to gain from telling your story in Heaven.”

John was looking at him in horror. Aziraphale felt terrible, just terrible. Crowley had laughed for ten minutes straight when he’d thought of this. Aziraphale had thought it very clever, very subtle. He hadn’t thought as far as seeing the sick fear written all over the other angel’s face. They’d won, but he felt like he’d lost something important. He had never felt such a hypocrite before. He didn’t want to face John any longer, and he didn’t know how he’d face Crowley. He stepped back.

“Go on, man. Your wife is waiting.”

John took a step, stopped and looked at him in misery.

“You didn’t have to do all this. We could just have kept quiet about each other, I wouldn’t have said anything about you two.”

“We’re not discussing my situation,” Aziraphale said, as Crowley had told him he should if John brought their Arrangement up. Crowley had seemed amused by that as well, although he wouldn’t tell Aziraphale why.

“Have I fallen?” John asked.

“I have no idea. Things aren’t quite so cut and dried down here. You’ll find that out,” Aziraphale said with great sympathy.

John walked off, putting a smile on his face as he reached his wife. Crowley greeted him pleasantly, but was ignored. Aziraphale went over to him, and they watched the couple hail a taxi and leave about their business. They both sighed deeply.

“Shall we start drinking right now to celebrate?” Crowley asked.

“Please,” Aziraphale said, not looking at him. “But let’s go somewhere less – oppressively opulent.”

Outside he squinted in the bright light, nearly running into Crowley who had stopped in front of him to adjust his hat to a more rakish angle. Crowley put on his blasted sunglasses, then reached into a pocket pressed perfectly flat and took out another pair.

“Here,” he said holding them out. “You’ll be more comfortable.”

Aziraphale hesitated a fraction of a second. Crowley didn’t care much about the comfort and well being of people who weren’t Crowley. He also wasn’t the sort of person who often said a word like ‘friend’. Not out loud at least, but Aziraphale had the feeling he was saying it now, doing his best in his Crowley-ish way. That was the thing to focus on. He’d done this so he wouldn’t lose a friend. They were very different, but they had overcome the barriers between them. That was what made what they had done worthwhile, that they had done it for each other. He took the glasses gladly. Crowley smiled gently as their hands touched. After another second, Aziraphale felt himself smiling back.

“Let’s wander to and fro,” he said.

Crowley laughed, and hailed a taxi.

“Let’s do it in style.”

“Always, dear boy, always.”

*********  
(1) Literally. A snide comment from Crowley could raise welts at 30 feet.

**Author's Note:**

> Genesis 6:1-4 tells of the Sons of God who marry the Daughters of Men. The Hebrew is a little ambiguous, but the resulting children are described as “heroes” (or “mighty men”) and “renowned men”. A group known as the “Nephilim” (Fallen Ones) are also mentioned – it is unclear whether these are the same as the offspring of angels and humans or whether it refers to the angels or to an entirely different group. Nimrod, described as a “mighty man” founds the world’s first empire in Gen 10:8-14, and the overly clever humans who build the tower of Babel in Gen 11:1-9 are probably also connected with the angelic-human offspring. The Book of Enoch, written in the Hellenistic period (and not in the Bible) takes the Gen 6:1-4 text and builds up a story of rebellious angels falling from Heaven. Enoch was very important to both early Judaism and early Christianity, and forms the basis for many of the ideas now best known from Paradise Lost.
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> “Like angels in heaven” is a quotation from Matthew 22:30 “…they neither marry nor are given in marriage, but are like angels in heaven.”
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> “Wandering to and fro on the earth” and “stretching forth his hand” is what The Adversary does in the Book of Job. 
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> “May God do thus and so to me…” is a typical way of starting an oath in the Old Testament, calling down unpleasantness upon the speaker if they fail to carry out their threat.  
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